


sacrifice

by sweetgoodgraciousangel



Series: Month of May Prompts 2019 [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, ichabod and wednesday get called to investigate mishaps at a museum, thats where they meet marble, the sentient statue whos hardcore fucking around with them, where patrons are being terrified to the point of running out of the building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 10:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18689233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetgoodgraciousangel/pseuds/sweetgoodgraciousangel
Summary: Ichabod and Wednesday get called to look into some mishaps inside of a museum. Upon investigation, everything seems okay at first glance. That is... until one of the marble angel statues in the building starts moving around on its own.





	sacrifice

The museum was only slightly ominous at night, Wednesday concluded, but he knew that should have been his first red flag and that he should have never agreed to part ways with Ichabod when they first got there. The owner of the museum had encouraged the two of them to explore as much as they’d like as they got to work while they were here. Wednesday decided it could be a little fun, and Ichabod suggested not to be too childish about it, as they were here to do their jobs and not play around. But Ichabod could also be a stick in the mud sometimes and dammit, Wednesday liked museums! He was going to at least have a good time while they were here.

 

The two of them received a call from the museum owner himself a night or so ago. He explained to them in detail that recently, more towards the night time, that his patrons were being scared out of his building and running away without fully finishing their tour of the place. While Ichabod had asked why he couldn’t simply look into it himself since it was his business, the owner explained that he has a sneaking suspicion this may need more intelligent investigating than what he or his own security guards were capable of, because every time they deep-dove themselves into the building to find out what was wrong, nothing ever came up.

 

The two of them agreed without much argument afterward.

 

After arriving, the two of them decided to split up and cover more ground. They had their phones on them, so if anything were to happen and the other needed to call them immediately it would be possible. 

 

Wednesday, so far, hadn’t seen anything alarming. Everything  _ looked _ okay to him. At least on the side of the building he was on anyway, but he could assume the same could be said for Ichabod since his phone hadn’t started ringing. For the most part, they were alone, save the guards who stayed at night to patrol. 

 

All the paintings were so lovely. He liked a lot of the art so far, and the sculptures he’d seen back at the entrance hall were _ phenomenal,  _ so detailed and gorgeous. He really liked all the ones of angels, their feathery wings and flowy outfits so impressively realistic and pretty. 

 

Wednesday distantly wished he was capable of such things like art and the sort. He loved his detective work, don’t get him wrong (this was his true calling), but he  _ really _ wanted to start art as a hobby at some point in his life. His paintings might not be the greatest at first, but as everyone’s always told him: you have to start somewhere if you ever want to gradually get better. Hm. Maybe after this case wrapped up, he’d have to pop into the local art supply store and pick out a few things and turn on a couple of painting tutorials (Bob Ross). He wondered if Ichabod would be interested in joining him.

 

Wednesday came to a stop and huffed. So far, he really hasn’t seen anything to be suspicious of. All the paintings looked like they were where they were supposed to be, no ghosts or ghouls popped out at him from displays or anything of the sort. Some of the works were a little creepy, but nothing had yet to send him turning on his heel and running the opposite direction. He came to a dead end hall where a bunch of paintings were hung up in a line, and with a sigh, he pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial button for Ichabod.

 

Seconds later, he picked up.

 

_ “Find anything?” _

 

Wednesday sighed. “Nope. Everything’s clear over here as far as I’m concerned.”

 

_ “Are you  **marveling** at everything or  **actually** investigating?” _

 

“I can’t if there’s nothing  _ to  _ investigate, Ichabod!”

 

_ “...True. Well, I’ll be honest, I don’t see anything here either. We should meet in the main hall and see what to do next.” _

 

If they come back empty handed, there’s no changing that fact. Wednesday’s not sure what they could do without any sort of clue or evidence. Hell, if this  _ does _ turn out to be something paranormal, what were they going to do about it? They were just barely off the hook rookie detective’s taking a big step into their line of work and making a statement as a dynamic duo in it. The  _ most _ Wednesday could do in the face of any ghost or old spirit haunting these artworks is scream, possibly throw something at it and run as far away as he possibly could. 

 

He should be getting back to meet with Ichabod. 

 

Just as he was turning to walk back in the direction that he came from, he finally began to hear something… _odd_. It was rhythmic, like heavy tapping on the tile floors beneath his own shoes. It sounded like a heavy rock hitting the ground repeatedly. He thought some time ago that he'd heard the same thing he was now, but it stopped after a while and he merely added it up to being he was just hearing the building settle in at night.

 

It took him a minute to realize what it was, but when it registered with him, he almost gasped.

 

_ Footsteps _ .

 

Wednesday froze. Okay, that’s not  _ all _ that unusual. There  _ were _ the guards on patrol, but Wednesday distinctly remembered them telling the two of them they’d hold back on their usual walking routes tonight to allow them to investigate whatever they’d like without getting in their way. So in that case, the most logical thing would be that they _should_ still be standing at the door. Right? That’s where they were when they parted ways and so far they had no reason to move.

 

Okay, then,  _ who _ was…

 

Wednesday swallowed thickly. The footsteps were… almost unnatural. _Why_ did it sound like stone hitting the floor? Was it Ichabod? He highly doubted it. Why come all this way if they just agreed to meet in the main hall? Plus, he’s not wearing _cement_ _covered_ _shoes_ or anything. 

 

They were getting closer, oh _god_ , whoever was walking toward him was _literally in the fucking room with him_. His heart shot up into his throat and he swore for a second he thought his vision swarmed from the rush of nerves that over took his body. He felt his arms go numb from the anxiety.

 

He didn’t want to turn around, he didn’t want to turn around, _he didn’t want to turn around -_

 

But finally he  _ did _ . He turned around slowly, cautiously, as if trying to smoothly catch a criminal in the midst of their crimes.

 

He tried not to scream but failed _miserably_ , throwing a hand over his own mouth as he stumbled backward.

 

“What the _fuck_.” He said, plain as day, back hitting the wall behind him, his breath leaving his lungs from the rough impact. He took deep breaths, trying to come up with a _rational_ _explanation_ as to why one of the angel statues that he’d seen in the main hall when they first came in was mere steps away from reaching out and touching Wednesday’s back, but there wasn’t, which is what made him scramble for his phone in his pocket because holy _fuck_ , a statue just moved itself into the _same fucking hallway he was in._

 

A few seconds passed, then Ichabod picked up.

 

_ “Yes?” _

 

“Get the _fuck_ over here, I’m going to freak the fuck out. I’m not kidding, Ichabod, get over here now! This statue just  _ moved _ , he  _ moved _ , he moved from the main hall. I’m not playing around!”

 

_ “Wednesday?” _

 

“What?!”

 

_ “What the  **hell** are you going on about?” _

 

“What part of A STATUE MOVED FROM THE MAIN HALL did you not get?!”

 

_ “Just about every word of that, actually. Statues don’t move.” _

 

“Oh, you don’t believe me?! Get over here then!”

 

_ “Fine, fine. I’m coming.” _

 

He sounded like he was moving to hang up, but Wednesday was scared too shitless to be left alone after that. There was no way in Hell he was about to be stuck with this by himself. He did not want to stay too long to figure out what was going to happen by the hands of a clearly haunted - perhaps even _dangerous_ \- old piece of artwork. 

“Don’t hang up. I’m  _ actually _ freaking out.”

 

_ “...I can tell.” _

 

The soulless eyes of the statue were glaring a hole into him. While it remained completely immobile now, he could still sense some sort of  _ life-like _ aura radiating from it, which not only  _ terrified  _ him but made him wonder how the hell it was doing it. The statue appeared to be one of a young adult male angel, wearing flowing rags and had small feathered wings protruding from his back. His hair was curly and the material he was made from - marble, it appeared - practically stood out beautifully in the lighting of the hallway. It was almost haunting. 

 

“Ichabod, it was like… I heard footsteps, right? I thought it might have been one of the security guards at first - “

 

_ “Oh my.” _

 

Wednesday shivered. “What?”

 

_ “...Was it that angel statue we saw when we first came in?” _

 

“Yes!”

 

_ “Hm. Well, it’s no longer on the podium in the main hall. Maybe someone moved it to where you are?” _

 

“ _ How _ , Ichabod?! There’s no way someone could sneak a statue behind me, and then bolt all the way back down the hall without me seeing them! There’s no place to hide in here! And I would have heard them. Not to mention this thing probably weighs a ton and a half!”

 

Ichabod’s tone sounded annoyed. _“Are you_ _**really** suggesting a statue just walked off a podium and came to bother you?” _

 

“Is that the most wild proposition I could ever make after everything we’ve been through together in our short career, Ichabod?!”

 

_ “Alright, try and calm down. Where are you?” _

 

“Past the display with all the floral stuff on it. Take a left, I’m at the end of that hallway. Please be careful though, something isn’t ri - “

 

Wednesday made the mistake of glancing away and he was sorrier than hell that he did. From the one second he hadn’t been looking at it, he examined it once more to see the expression of the statue had changed. From the blank look in the eyes to the frown on his lips, Wednesday could _clearly_ see the statue was now smiling, and a slight cheeriness seemed to cover the angel's previously peaceful face. Was this statue fucking mocking him for being afraid?!

 

“Oh my fucking God, I’m fixing to bolt.”

 

_ “Don’t. I’m almost there.” _

 

“The statue just started fucking smiling at me, Ichabod. I’m out.”

 

_ “Wednesday, I’m serious. Don’t move.” _

 

“I’m not going to be sacrificed to this evil statue’s murderous tendencies!”

 

_ “You’re not going to be sacrificed!” _

 

Just like that, Ichabod hung up but at the same time walked around the corner. Wednesday sighed with relief, then pointed to the statue in a flurry of panic.

 

“I told you!”

 

“Hm… so you did. No signs of someone dragging him through the hallway either. I wonder how he got all the way down here?”

 

Wednesday, at the moment, did not really  _ fucking _ care. He wanted out of this place, but over all he knew he’d come to do a job. He got up and flew past the statue, not giving him a chance to reach out and grab him or do whatever the hell he planned on doing. He was not down for murderous statues today, thank you very much.

 

“I don’t know, but we’d best call the owner and tell him to get a fucking exorcist in this building.”

 

“Well, maybe not all of that, but we’d better tell him what h—oh.”

 

Ichabod was staring behind him. Wednesday turned his head, gasping loudly. Ichabod grasped onto him and he held back just as tightly, shaking.

 

The statue had turned around, and his pose had changed. One foot forward, as if he’d been coming for them again.

 

“We’re getting the _fuck_ out,” Wednesday said. “We’re leaving  _ now _ .”

 

“Agreed.”

 

“Let’s run on 3.”

 

Ichabod nodded, and for once Wednesday saw his usual stern demeanor break in favor of _actual_ _terror_ flashing in his eyes. The statue felt like he was listening intently in one what they were planning, despite remaining completely immobile, as if he were never alive in the first place. But it was clear he was. He had to be. No amount of convincing stillness would ever deceive Ichabod or Wednesday ever again when they passed a statue from now on, knowing there was the potential the son of a bitch was alive.

 

“1…” Wednesday began, the two of them taking a step back together.

 

“2…” Ichabod followed up, never tearing his gaze away from the statue.

 

“3!” They shouted in unison.

 

On cue, they turned and fucking  _ bolted  _ the way they came. 

 

Distantly, they acknowledged the sound of stone footsteps following closely behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> sooo marble is mute. he also is just. a sentient statue. that's rlly it. fun fact tho, there's no real paranormal hauntings at the museum. marble is just his own person! ;)


End file.
